Fifteen #3
“No game, my ass,” Layna said, shooting me a sassy look. “I just got you a ride home from a hottie.”
Nate blushed scarlet and let out an unrestrained laugh. I already loved that sound.
As I sat on an emergency blanket Nate had pulled from his trunk, I tried not to get any potato sludge on his backseat. I’d
stripped off my undies, shorts, and jog bra in the bathroom and pulled on my sweatsuit. Now my gloopy underclothes were in
a plastic grocery bag.
“You really should have sat shotgun,” Principal Cruz said.
“Shotgun goes to the wrestling victor, not the vanquished,” I replied. “Your brother said you mashed the patriarchy because he dared you to. True or false, Principal Cruz?”
“Call me Lucia!” she said. “Half true. I have a lot of adrenaline to burn off after work. And you should know: If there’s
anyone in this world wilder than an elementary school teacher, it’s an elementary school principal.” She wiggled in her seat.
“I have to say, it’s gonna be interesting getting mashed potato out of my private bits.”
Commenting on the current sloppy state of my own orifices seemed inappropriate. “Mrs. Glidewell doesn’t seem wild.”
“Mrs. Glidewell has a stripper pole in her bedroom,” Lucia said.
“She doesn’t!” I cried.
“Sure does. But if you quote me on that I will deny,” she said.
“I’ll put it in the vault,” I said. Then to Nate, “You’re quiet.”
“It’s because he likes listening to you,” Principal Cruz teased. “Because you’re ‘hi-lar-i-ous.’”
“Stop that,” Nate said.
“Normally, I can’t shut him up,” Lucia continued. “But around you he’s too twitterpated to speak.”
“You need to stop right now,” Nate said. But he sounded more embarrassed than mad.
As my face flamed, I felt grateful it was dark in the car. “This is me right here,” I said, gesturing at my duplex, which
looked cozy through the falling snow.
“It was fun to get to know you a little better,” Lucia said, her voice sparkling. I had the sense I could hang out with these
two forever and never get tired of them.
“It was. Thanks for the ride,” I said, barely remembering to grab my bag of starchy underclothes.
Once I’d told Emmylou about my wild night, I listened to her (somewhat irritating) concerns that Alice’s Betty White face mask was an “odd toy for a little girl” and that Phoebe’s biting was a sign of a deeper emotional ill.
After I bid her good night, I took a hot shower to blast potato out of my nooks and crannies, then went to work on laundry mountain.
As I completed the mindless task of going through pockets before tossing clothes in the machine, I let the words Day of the Rope and all they implied sink in for the first time since I’d heard the voice memo from Ralphie the Lizard. In three weeks, my
furlough would be done and I’d be back at work. But even if I quit my job altogether, my coworkers would be there at the Capitol
Grill serving sloppy joes to crusty old legislators and idealistic young staffers. I was currently tortured by the thought
I might’ve had something to do with the murder of one slimeball who probably deserved to die. I certainly couldn’t live with
the blood of countless innocents on my conscience.
I’d fished a purple marker out of Phoebe’s jeans and a tin of Crazy Aaron’s Thinking Putty from Alice’s hoodie. Now inside
the pocket of my L.L.Bean puffer, my fingers closed around something with sharp edges.
A bottle cap. It had a tiny hole drilled through the middle and BuckSnort Root Beer stamped on it. I’d always thought BuckSnort only came in cans. I turned it over, studying it. Had this bit of flotsam been
in my jacket pocket for months? Or could it be a clue to my whereabouts during my blackout Sunday night?
With the washing machine running and the BuckSnort cap tucked into my purse, I put on my jammies and crept to the twins’ room.
They lay conked out in Alice’s bottom bunk, Paddington 2 still running on the iPad propped up against a pillow. The Brown kids huddled in a London phone booth where they played Joanna
Lumley’s recorded voice into the phone receiver to trick Hugh Grant.
Gently lifting the tablet, I hit pause and studied my girls.
Phoebe wore a red Little Mermaid wig and slept with one arm flung out as if trying to grab something just out of reach.
Alice’s pajamas were on inside out, and she had her beloved Betty White face mask tucked into her elbow, as if she’d had an attack of narcolepsy right after robbing an armored car.
Seeing them sleeping, so perfectly rumpled, always made me remember that sometimes life is joyful and beautiful.
Sometimes even our wildest dreams come true (times two)!
But the twins’ soft breathing also terrified me.
It was my job to stay alive and well and out of prison so they’d have a shot at a reasonably trauma-free childhood.
I wanted to give them that, more than I’d even wanted to have them in the first place.
To that end—as soon as I’d gotten my twins onto the school bus tomorrow—I’d head to Connor’s house to see what I could discover.